Blood Brothers
by MurasakiZetsubou
Summary: A loose collection of Thass/Tira moments leading up to MoP. M for... heated moments. Rate & review please!
1. The Love Song of Har Dyal

My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.

_Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!_

~Rudyard Kipling

'Koltira!' Thassarian shoved his way through the throng of initiates, fixated on the battered, gleaming body of his friend. The new favourite of the Lich King, the one whom Thassarian had sent to rescue the death knight, opened their mouth to object, but he was quickly silenced with gold: leave Bloodbane to come up with the fledgling's next assignment. No, his eyes were for the high elf alone.

'Koltira,' he repeated. The youth's body seemed beyond repair, deep marks leading into his cracked and ruined armor. Torture marks. Thassarian's frozen blood boiled at the sight and he made to move forward. 'I swear by Frostmourne I shall- they will feel your pain a thousand times over! I will-'

'My friend,' Koltira said sternly. 'They are all dead, I assure you. You should not have sent for me; our King shall be most displeased.' Koltira's azure eyes shone with icy indifference, no trace- as always- of emotion. The model death knight. Thassarian's anger coalesced into a kernel of fury and settled into his gut. He pulled away from Koltira.

'Next time you are stupid enough to get yourself caught, I shall leave you to die a second time.'

'Some welcome-'

'Get yourself cleaned up. We have a schedule to keep to.'

Koltira was left standing in the orchard, the sweet smelling summer breeze toying with his snowy hair.

* * *

_Eyy- it's my favourite bromance in WoW. Mostly because we never really saw a lot of Tholo and Anren. But really, how did they manage under the ever watchful eye of the Lich King?_

_By the way- I have not read the Thassarian's manga, as much as I would love to. I'll have to get my hands on it sometime, but I apologise for any discrepancies between their story and mine. Mine hopefully has a _lot _more sexy times._


	2. Carpe Diem

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;

Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure:

In delay there lies no plenty,-

Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,

Youth's a stuff will not endure.

~William Shakespeare

Thassarian quickly looked around, desperate to find him. There will be no freedom, not until-

Thass!' Something in his chest- his heart?- thudded in response. He had survived. 'Thassarian, are you alright?'

'The human could only nod in response: he did not trust himself to speak. A grin was fighting its way to his face. As the shackles of his soul were broken, so too the cuffs binding his humanity. His spirit would thaw, in time.

Koltira peered into his face, perhaps wondering if his brain was addled. 'We must clear Acherus, brother. Not everyone was saved.'

'Very well.' Thassarian unsheathed his runeblade- it was still associating with him, leeching his soul. All the same, it felt good to no longer have the hoarse commands of the King reverberating in his head.

'Let them try to take our freedom from us.'

* * *

_I will have to buy clothes in Stormwind. It will be strange, not wearing my armour all day._

_ This body was only raised for war. _

The euphoria that accompanied emancipation had worn off. They had fought against former allies, reclaiming the Ebon Hold. Runeblade clashed against runeblade, val'kyr swooping into the fight, and between it all, Patchwerk hooked death knights and initiates, swatting them against the wall. It was a fresh look at Scourge tactics- overwhelming numbers and smell- and Thassarian had had to re-evaluate his perspective, because he would become an Alliance soldier once again: hulks of larval white flesh were no longer relief for the shock troops, they were a priority target. His blade had sung, its pallid shriek gurgling with the blood of his foes.

Perhaps he had lied. The happiness was not quashed, simply checked by the fear- fear, of all things- of the other side of the coin of war.

Politics.

He did not want to wheedle and beg to King Varian Wrynn, did not want to see the distrust in his fellow soldier's eyes, face their passive dislike. He had experienced a soldier's life once, and he knew how difficult it was to deal, how easy it was to allow it to get under your skin.

By Muradin's beard, he had better not be having second thoughts.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and this time, Koltira Deathweaver waited for permission before entering.

'You are leaving for Stormwind.'

'Aye.' He had noticed how flat the elf's voice had become. His usual audacious nature had left him, to be replaced by this sombre demeanour. It was how Thassarian had imagined all elves to be.

'Will we be enemies, brother?' There was a smile on Koltira's face. 'The strength of our bond is not so strong now to overpower me, and I believe I have become your equal in battle. All the same, I'd rather be at your back than to try your steel.'

Thassarian looked king upon his… friend. The confident, cruel look in his eye was something all death knights carried: death made us stronger; what chance do you think _you _have?

But yes, Koltira had lost something he had possessed in his life and early undeath. He was a runeblade himself now, cold and calculating, innately malevolent. Thassarian had gifted this boy with death and slavery and Koltira still called him _brother. _He looked away, suddenly pained, the miasma of emotions churning within him, made him feel ill, but Koltira cupped his cheek, made him look into his eyes. The elf's touchiness had annoyed him when they first met: it was so different to the culture he had come from. When he had been hurt, to reassure him or to simply indicate that he was there, Koltira would touch him, a hand on his shoulder, his wrist. But now his cold hand lingered upon his face, and Thassarian did not know what to do. Koltira's face was unreadable. Fraternisation, he argued lamely, was frowned upon in both the armies that he had served.

Did he even want to fraternise with this boy, his friend, his brother?

Koltira stepped forward, his cold breath fanning onto Thassarian's face. Thassarian, eyes closed, gulped in the air like a drowning man. He wanted this. Since when did he want this?

Soft eyelashes touched his cheeks. Then, unbearably soft lips pressed onto his and parted: a boy's kiss. Thassarian's hands came up, slow as frostbite, and held Koltira's face, guiding the elf into the kiss. A soft sigh billowed into his mouth and large, slim-fingered hands slipped to his neck: Thassarian quashed the urge to control Koltira. He wanted this. He was a friend, not some serving wench. He _wanted _this.

Koltira pulled away, resting his forehead onto the older death knight's.

'I have wanted to do that,' he whispered, 'for quite some time.'

Thassarian said nothing.

'Do not die, Thass. If you do, I shall hunt you down and make you _my _minion, understand?'

Thassarian allowed his hands to slip only reluctantly from Koltira's face. Inches apart, surrounded by gloom, unable to see anything but each other's face and their own reflected twice in blue light, they said goodbye.

* * *

It had been a terrible week: the people of Stormwind, understandably, still did not trust him, although they had blessedly stopped throwing fruit. Clenching his bag of cheese and produce like some sort of shield, he quietly opened and closed the door, standing in the waiting room of the Gilded Rose. Allison looked up, smiling. She had been the nicest to him, but she must have seen all sorts come through her inn.

'Good afternoon, Mister Thassarian. Mail for you.'

He nodded his thanks.

In his room, he slit the envelope with one slice of the dagger: it was from Koltira. He smiled, sitting on a chair, and foolishly brushed the elongated letters with his thumb.

_ Salutations, Thassarian, _it began. Polite with a smirk, as always. _ If I have to suffer at the hands of another blasted psychiatrist again, I will behead him._ He grabbed an apple from the bowl and bit into it, thinking his week might not have been so bad after all.

* * *

_I'm thinking these death knights are a little bit too happy for their own good. _


	3. Celia, Celia

Celia, Celia

WARNING: CONTAINS SEXY TIMES. NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED.

When I am sad and weary,

When I think all hope has gone

When I walk along High Holborn

I think of you with nothing on.

~Adrian Mitchell

_Five more minutes._

Thassarian did not want to get up today. Military discipline could stick it where it hurts. He turned over, groaning.

A slight chink in the curtains cut a blinding line straight onto his left eyelid.

Shutting the curtains properly would be too much effort. Even _turning over _would be too much effort.

The light suddenly himself, he cracked open a bleary eye. And immediately sat up.

'Koltira!' The elf, in his civvies, raised a finger to his lips, legs wide, arms carelessly arranged on the rests. He looked, Thassarian thought, like an absolute cock. Bifrost leaned on his desk, forgotten and unused.

'I've grown bored in Ogrimmar. I thought I'd come watch you at drills, but you've obviously grown lax.' He laughed as Thassarian turned back to sleep, 'Seriously, Thass, sleeping off a rough night?'

'You're late by five hours, Tira. There were a couple little pieces you'd have liked.'

'A couple? How did you get even a couple of women to put up with _you _for an hour?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?'

Koltira ripped back the sheets, exposing Thassarian to the cool morning air. Leaning down- Thassarian could feel the elf's erection hard against his back- he whispered in his ear, his voice rough and shaky with madness.

'Yes, actually, I would.'

He turned- they shared a look- and fell upon each other with kisses. Koltira was soon unclothed and lying upon the disturbed bedsheets, one knee bought up and slightly to the side, showing off his crotch and its prize- like him, long and slender- in all its perfections.

'Turn over, Tira.'

His answering grin was tyrannical. 'Suck me first, _sir.' _He drew his arms to rest beneath his head. Thassarian growled, but obliged. He took the tip in his mouth- the taste was strange, but not unsavoury- and gave it a good, long, healthy kiss with a little tongue thrown in. He had no idea what he was doing, but he heard Koltira sigh with satisfaction and reluctantly turned over. On an impulse, he bit a firm buttock and licked the other, earning a yelp from the elf, who bought his knees up, revealing himself.

Thassarain took his time- he was familiar with the concept of fine asses. He licked his way up between the buttocks, and then teased the outer edges of the hole with the tip of his tongue, causing it to dilate. Once he was sure he had garnered Koltira's full attention, Thassarian slipped in, his tongue lightly probing. Koltira cried out, grabbing the sheet, and Thassarian immediately pulled out, but worked two fingers in instead, listening to Koltira laugh nervously, bucking into his hand.

'Shut up, Tira.'

'Bossy.' Koltira was breathless with pleasuring himself. 'I almost feel sorry for your imaginary girlfriends.'

Thassarian, growling, spread his legs even further, using a forefinger and thumb to open Koltira up; Thassarian finally thrust into him, relishing Koltira's groan, and enjoyed him. Koltira removed one of Thassarian's stabilising hands on his hips- much narrower than the human was used too- and circled it around his cock, pumping with their fingers entwined.

His breathing grew erratic too quickly, and Thassarian fought his own orgasm as Koltira tightened, spilling onto the bed. He collapsed beside the elf, laughing. He did not feel like sleep.

A little while after _that, _as the sun was rising proper, Thassarian tried again with his tongue, Koltira drowning himself out onto the pillows. As he plunged deeper, his tongue a muscle willing to conquer but squeezed tight, Koltira had cried out his name in genuine need and had sought out his hand: Thassarian grasped it as the elf moaned again and again, his half-coherent pleas tinged with genuine yearning: begging with Thassarian to stop, to carry on, to turn him around and kiss him. He did not stop until Koltira was a shaking, panting, sated wreck. Only then did he flip him over, finding the boy was wracked with sobs.

He held him, kissed him, the dawn of passion transformed into something more tender, something Thassarian was even more frightened of than lust- politics, even. He held his brother-in-arms, kissed his lips, his cheeks, his fragile eyelids, until he fell asleep, still clutching Thassarian's hand.

* * *

Thassarian woke up, hands immediately going for the other side of the bed. It was cold. It was empty.

He sat up, cursing: the sun had not yet risen. Lifting up his desheets, grimacing, he found them to be soaked in sweat and other fluids.

Fourth bell. Two more hours till drills with a regiment that was petrified of him.

Thassarian groaned, rolling over.

He did not want to get up today.

* * *

_So... um... yeah. Thass misses him a little bit too much. Unfortunately for him, they're not going to meet each other any time soon._


	4. A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

Our two souls therefore, which are one,  
Though I must go, endure not yet  
A breach, but an expansion,  
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so  
As stiff twin compasses are two ;  
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show  
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

~John Donne

Fury was the only word that came to mind. Dusk picked her way nonchalantly through the lichen, feigning ignorance. Live mounts still refused to ride alongside the imperious mare, causing all sorts of havoc in procession. The other horses gave them a wide berth, although that could have just been fear of Dusk's master.

They were going to pick up Alliance deserters.

Thassarian, not a happy person at the best of times, had been livid when he was handed the letters. He had proposed their beheading in full view of the Horde delivery orc. General Arlos said no.

Deserters were all the way down there in Thassarian's book. Betray your squad and people die. You could be as patriotic as you wanted but when you were out there you fought for the soldiers either side of you, behind you. Your comrades were more important than king and country and you did _not _break rank.

He dismounted and cast a cold eye on the dissenters. Not meeting his eye, they trudged forward with a nudge from the orc holding the axe. He and his troops had come empty handed. The Alliance gave no quarter: this was a perfect PR moment orchestrated by some greasy blood elf, most probably.

A scowl manifested itself onto his face.

'We'll take it from here.' He made to mount up: a nudge from a guard to his friend in the corner of his eye stopped him.

'You.' The orc with the axe sniggered. 'Elf-lover. _Man-fucker._'

One of his squad almost grabbed his shoulder before remembering who Thassarian was.

'What did you call me?' It was almost a whisper to be carried away in the breeze, but everyone was a doe in the brush, fixated on every sound. No one on either side even dared to draw weapons and the horses stood stock still. The orc, either fearless or a poor reader of atmosphere, puckered up.

'Does he taste,' he growled, pug nose snuffling, 'like whore-scent?'

Thassarian charged. At the last second, he drew the cold in the air around them onto the orcs, freezing them: he narrowly remembered to spare the Alliance soldiers.

Spitting at the orc's immobilised feet, he swung himself onto Dusk, one look silencing his men.

* * *

'You don't attack Horde without express permission, soldier. Even if they insult you.'

Thassarian was fighting to keep his anger under control. 'Yes sir. It won't happen again.'

General Arlos lifted a piece of paper from his desk, pretending to read it. 'I understand that you're looking for your sister.'

'Yes. I believe there was,' he glared at the general, 'a mix-up involving my recruitment papers. She's out there looking for me, she's the only family I have left.' An image of his mother, her face tear-streaked but defiant, rose up in his mind. 'I... I forgot to talk to her after Light's Hope, but now I'll find her. Say sorry.'

'Of course. Take as long as you need.' Thassarian hated the pity in his eyes. 'Before you go, soldier: this arrived this morning.' It was a letter, the address written in neat, long script. The envelope was already neatly sliced. 'I understand you were friends before-'

'Still are, sir.'

The general looked up. 'Sorry, what?'

'Koltira and I. We're still friends.'

'Of course. He coughed delicately. 'Make sure you're not letting anything important slip. He's still Horde.'

'Yes, sir.'

* * *

_Oooh. You don't trash-talk Thass. I love this quest line, by the way._

_On the other hand, I was re-reading the previous chapters and I am so, _so _sorry for the blatant and ridiculous typos that are scattered like pips. My face burns in shame- I promise to check my chapters _extra _carefully from now on. In the words of a very rich and silly man, 'My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all'!_


	5. Invictus

It matters not how strait the gate,  
How charged with punishments the scroll.  
I am the master of my fate:  
I am the captain of my soul.

~William Ernest Henley

_Koltira was spying._

_They had been there for half an hour, now. Twice as long as the sentence required._

_Thassarian was being punished for Koltira's mistakes._

_This time, he had failed to note a Scarlet ambush intended for a cargo ship. They had been surgical, burning the crates of grave dust, the vials of blood, before dying at the hands of the Scourge. They had even managed to take down an abomination: all mere hindrances, but a lesson had to be taught nonetheless. Orbaz, lusty for blood, was intercepted by Thassarian. So it was he who knelt in the clearing, not Koltira, mercilessly whipped until his back was pulp. Then a necromancer would step in, knitting the flesh back onto his bones._

_This was the real punishment and Thassarian writhed in agony as his back was remade and unmade again and again. _

_Finally the necromancer and the spectators were dismissed and only Thassarian and Orbaz were left. But the blood death knight was not done. Engorged with violence, he tore off his leggings, keeping a firm grip on the back of Thassarian's neck. And then he shamed him, violated him, tore away his dignity. Koltira's creator made not a sound as he was taken, his face hidden from the elf by sweat-slick grey hair. Koltira found that he could not look away. Not even when Orbaz, grinning savagely right where the high elf thought he was hidden as he rode off the climax of his pleasure, kicked the ruined Thassarian square in the chest as he walked away. Only then did Koltira step forward, shame wreathing him in fire._

_Thassarian had already staggered to his feet, fumbling with his leggings._

_'Thassarian, I-'_

_'It's alright, lad.' He looked at Koltira straight in the eye with infinite sadness. Perhaps Thassarian did not know that he bared his soul to the world with his eyes. Koltira wondered, not for the first time, what they were like before he had died. He closed a supporting hand around Thassarian's wrist. His mother had told him that physical contact instilled the strength of one into another, rejuvenating them._

_Was he supporting Thassarian, or draining his energy?_

_Thassarian said nothing, his mouth a grim line. Often, in the loneliness that accompanied the dark, Koltira- instead of sleeping- dreamed of those lips, imagining them smiling. Thassarian was a curt man to all but Koltira, but even in his kindness he did not smile, did not laugh._

_The human gently shook himself out of Koltira's grip._

_'I'm going to rest,' he called back, waving a hand. 'Wake me when you need me.'_

* * *

'Almost there, sir.'

Koltira snapped back to the present, straightening on his horse. Looking up, he could see that they were indeed close to the Ruby Dragonshrine.

'No one is to engage Bloodbane, understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

_He's all mine._

The orcs- smelly, disgusting creatures- charged into battle. The undead, however- and there were a few- stood back, evaluating the mayhem before slipping in.

Koltira had eyes for only one man, and he could see that he had noticed him too, his frenzied grin threatening to tear his face apart. Orbaz Bloodbane. A big man, bigger than Thassarian, he would be tough to beat, if he were alone.

Fortunately, Koltira was rarely alone. Calmly dismounting, he searched the ground until he found a suitable corpse: it was a mere trifle to reanimate it, albeit into a slavering, groaning mirror of its old self.

'We meet again, old friend,' Orbaz called, equally calm. As he drew closer, his familiar stench washed over the elf: dried, matted blood that clung to his long hair left a heavy aura around the human. 'Did he send you? Can he sit on that tight little ass of his yet?'

Koltira kept his mouth shut. He did not want to breathe in anymore than he had to. Two strides bought him to Orbaz, Byfrost swinging high and connecting with a crunch, infecting him with a plague that could kill a mortal man in seconds: turning and dodging, he grasped Orbaz's exposed neck, his touch leaving an icy fever that would freeze his joints. Bloodbane leaped back, disengaging, but Koltira wanted this to be quick.

Rotted hands broke through the ground, shackling Orbaz: one, yanking, bought him to his knees, where more reached up to grab his wrists.

'You never really did focus enough on unholy magic,' Koltira commented, testing Byfrost against the man's neck: he was glad to see an expression of fear finally break on Orbaz's face.

'Traitor! The Lich King will see you drown in blood!'

Blue eyes bored into blue, cruelty into cowardice.

'The Lich King was never my master. Thassarian was.' Lifting Byfrost high- the runeblade keened high for blood and _treachery, revenge!- _he swung and Orbaz keeled over, headless, onto the red soil. He watched as the head rolled away, face frozen in shock, before turning to dispatch a few more errant death knights.

Guarding the bodies as they went up in cleansing flames, he wondered how to best portray the day's events in a letter.

* * *

_This is the first of two chapters written in Deathweaver's point of view. I thought I'd leave Thassarian to his sister-saving. It was only meant to be one chapter but it got a little bit too long, so I split it for easier reading._

_On the other hand, I never liked Orbaz (did anyone?) and that's why I cast him as the antagonist. _

_Disclaimer: I did not compare Thass/Tira to Master Chief/Cortana. I swear._


	6. Lullaby

Lay your sleeping head, my love,

Human on my faithless arm;

Time and fevers burn away

Individual beauty from

Thoughtful children, and the grave

Proves the child ephemeral:

But in my arms till break of day

Let the living creature lie,

Mortal, guilty, but to me

The entirely beautiful.

~ W. H. Auden

_Even in sleep, Thassarian frowned. Koltira, on an impulse, laid a hand onto the pillow, careful not to disturb his superior, and leaned in, inhaling his scent. It was as he thought. Like any of the well-preserved death knights, walking through time but untouched by it, Thassarian had an absence of smell, like a marble statue. There was the faint smell of armour, but nothing of the man._

_He glanced up and almost fell back in shock. Thassarian looked up at him, blue eyes vulnerable and soft. They stared at one another before the human rolled over and continued to sleep, mumbling. He exhaled slowly. Thassarian dreamed. _

_Koltira straightened, careful to keep his mind a blank. The last thing he wanted was to get Thassarian in trouble. It would not be beneath the Lich King to punish of his men for inciting another to treachery, for what he felt for the human- he was not ashamed to admit, at least to himself, that his respect had transformed- was indeed treachery. He fought for Thassarian. He breathed for Thassarian. He had died for him- and would do so again, if that was what it took._

_He left his friend to sleep, closing the door gently behind him._

* * *

'My friend!' Koltira disregarded the curious gazes of the bartender and stood up to clap a hand on Thassarian's shoulder, beer forgotten. To his surprise, the human grinned back, his face transformed and youthful.

'Koltira. I'm sorry for my lateness. I see you've been pining.'

'I'm drugging myself, brother. I never could stand you.'

Thassarian laughed- _laughed- _and unlike the waitress, Koltira did not flinch. He did not hear the sinister subharmonies all death knights possessed. He heard the deep, rich laugh of a man in his prime and marveled at the change.

'Shall we eat?' Thassarian cast a look around the Legerdemain Lounge: it was one of only two inns in Dalaran that was faction neutral. Koltira had not wanted to sleep in the Underbelly.

'Actually, dinner service doesn't start until eighth bell.'

Thassarian looked long upon his friend, eyes smiling. 'I guess we can wait. Let's have a look around. It'd be nice to walk around a city without having to destroy anything.'

'I've something better in mind.'

* * *

Koltira stood by the door, not taking his eyes off his friend. Thassarian stood on the balcony, watching the comings and goings in the street below him. The new Dalaran was constantly assaulted by frigid winds and howling blasts but Thassarian wore only his light linen breeches and shirt, sleeves pulled back. He looked so casual without his armour, so relaxed.

Upon opening the door, he had given the two beds- Koltira was not yet fearless enough to book a room with only a double bed- a quick glance, and deposited his bag next to Koltira's bed, clearly marked by the pile of history books he so loved.

He was watching Koltira now, a smile playing on his lips. It was almost frightening, really, the insight into the man. He was no longer affiliated with the Alliance Army: he had saved his sister, the only family left to him in the world. Perhaps he was entitled to his mood.

'So, Thass,' he said, sauntering towards his friend- his lover?- with what he hoped was a cocky grin on his face, 'tell me about this dream you had. Your letter was lacking in details, where I could read it.'

Thassarian shut the balcony doors and curtains in response. The mage lanterns immediately lit the room with an orange glow. He stroked the elf's cheek reverently, searching his face, before leaning in, kissing him.

This human, his killer, a dead man with no aura, his flesh only possessing the barest hint of heat, kissed him as shyly as a teenager with his first love. Koltira could feel the tautness of his muscles, his restraint and realised that Thassarian loved him. He laughed into Thassarian's mouth, strangely elated and the man pulled back, kissing his nose. Yes, Thassarian had every right to be happy- as did he.

'Stop trying to distract me, Thass.'

'On the contrary, dear Tira. I was never very good with words.' His voice became deeper, rougher, and parts of Koltira that had been neglected for so long stirred awake, acknowleding their master. 'I'm trying to show you.' Large, strong hands planted themselves onto his hips, divesting him of his shirt, his breeches slipping to the floor. Thassarian traced his lurid green tattoos, kissed the hollow of his neck, and impatiently removed his own clothes.

He was a tall man, a broad man, a perfect representation of his race. Thassarian stood before him, perfectly naked, half-aroused, eyes half-lidded.

'You were sat down, I remember.' Koltira moved to oblige him, hands reluctant to leave the man's body. Thassarian knelt, nudging open his legs. Koltira brushed grey hair from the man's eyes and he leaned up to kiss him, his tongue an errant minion in his mouth. Thassarian ran his tongue over one of the tattoos, eliciting a surprised sigh, before gently kissing a scar on Koltira's chest, the only one he had requested not to be completely healed. His creation wound.

Seeing his mentor bowed over his lap aroused Koltira almost violently. Sensing his regard, Thassarian smiled at him, gathered the snow white that fell around them both to rest on one shoulder.

'This wasn't really how the dream began, but it's a nice start, don't you think?' The feel of Thassarian's murmured words against his thigh stung him like swords could not. 'Some scholars think that dead men cannot feel half as much as live ones do.'

'Oh, really? One of Koltira's hands cupped Thassarian's head: the force he was exerting would have snapped a normal man's neck, but Thassarian grinned, remaining only _tantalisingly_ close to his goal.

'Let's test that theory.'

* * *

_Oh ho ho. Let us cast our eyes away and leave them to it. _

_Anyway, I really should concentrate on revision now (but I won't). The uber fast updates will now slow down._


	7. La Belle Dame Sans Merci

**La Belle Dame Sans Merci**

Oh what can ail thee, knight at arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered on the lake

And no birds sing.

~John Keats

'Thassarian, it's the end of your shift.' He turned at the sound of the voice, forcing a smile. Put the mortals at ease.

'I'll wait, thanks.' He clapped the man on the shoulder. 'Go get yourself back inside, Marcus.' The soldier grinned gratefully and jogged back below decks. He was a good lad. Too young to be in the army.

He turned his gaze back onto the wastes of Icecrown, deep in thought. Darion had summoned him to the Argent Tournament as one of the death knights chosen to audition to be the Champion of the Ebon Blade. Thassarian had no time for such foolish games.

Koltira would be there, at least. Thassarian was confident that there would be someone moping on the grounds more annoyed than he was. Perhaps they could sneak away-

Get a grip, he chided himself. Stop acting like some moonstruck boy. You are a fully grown _dead _man, and so is Tira.

Stop talking to yourself!

Thassarian grinned as he leaned against the railing, feeling like a fool.

* * *

'This is ridiculous,' Thassarian heard King Wrynn mutter to Jaina Proudmoore as they mounted the steps to the stadium. 'What is the point of forcing able bodies to play with toys when they can be out there, slaying undead?'

The death knight could not agree more. He wandered over to the stands surrounding the Ring of Champions: a human was jousting against the Sen'jin champion; the human's friend sat near the death knight, cheering. He smiled at Thassarian as he sat down.

The trolls, since time immemorial, had terrorised the humans trying to carve out a living in the Eastern Kingdoms. In return, the humans invaded troll territory, stealing land that must have belonged to tribes for centuries. The hatred did not just stem from their differing factions: it was an ingrained fear towards the other race, mixed into their very blood.

Blue and brown eyes widened as the human's charger galloped fearlessly towards the raptor as she lowered her lance, breaking it upon the troll's shield, dismounting her. To Thassarian's surprise the human grinned, dismounting as well, and offered her hand to the troll, both laughing. The troll bowed, giving a token to the human: they both walked over to the stables. The human had removed her helmet, showing off friendly brown eyes set in a soft, kind face crowned by a bun of deep red hair. Thassarian recognised her as one of the paladins that had aided the Ebon Blade in gaining a foothold in Icecrown. She too smiled at Thassarian as she walked past, her friend intercepting her.

'I knew you could do it.'

'Yes, well,' she handed the reins over to a stable boy, 'I couldn't have done it without your cheering.'

Thassarian sat, stunned. Scanning the champions stood by their banners, he suddenly realised that their eyes were clear of hatred. They chatted amiably to members of the opposite faction, with the exception of the surly Forsaken who did not talk to anyone. Perhaps that was to be expected: even the Argent Crusade had to take baby steps.

The Argent Crusade had united, if not the Horde and the Alliance, then at least a small part of it. Every single soldier here did not care about race: they cared about obliterating the Scourge. Would the Crusade still exist once the Lich King was dead? It should. Thassarian could not believe that every orc was a brute, that every troll was a sneak. How much more could be achieved if they got over stereotypes, over the divide?

'Penny for your thoughts, Thassarian?'

'I was going to look for you. Missed me, Koltira?'

The elf's rougish grin seemed to be tailor-made for Thassarian. Koltira was gleefully rude to everyone else.

He was content to sit here for a while with his friend, and it seemed that Koltira was too.

'My friend,' he finally said, 'what will we do after the Lich King?'

'What do you mean?'

'When we died, we were raised for a single purpose: to wage war. Now we have turned, we must kill him who defiled us. But what about after? I can't see you setting up shop in Silvermoon City.' He earned the smile he was going for, but Koltira became serious.

'Well, perhaps we could open a bar in Dalaran. Somewhere we can be seen together without being shouted at.' Koltira suddenly stood, facing his friend, a fire in his eyes. 'I'm sick of sneaking around, Thassarian. Sick of pretending I don't care about the Alliance.' He grasped the human's shoulders, looking into his eyes. 'You don't know how afraid I am of hearing of your death. I request copies of the Ogrim's Hammer's logs _every day _to make sure they didn't bomb you out of the sky. His face was inches from Thassarian's own: he could see that some of the champions had turned to glance curiously at them, but he paid them no notice. Koltira dominated his vision, his elvish frame leaning over Thassarian's, his hair, pure as snow, cloaking them from the world. Their posture was so similar to that evening in Dalaran- the first of many- that Thassarian's face would have burned with mortal blood.

Koltira leaned still further, resting his forehead upon the human's. They occupied the same space, breathed the same air. They had forgotten about the tournament. 'I'm so scared, Thassarian.' He realised he had copied the elf's gesture, and their arms was all that kept them from crushing each other in a sudden embrace. 'What if I meet you on the battlefield? Could I avoid you? Do you think that I can watch if you were slain, do you think I could grin and bear it?' His eyes were closed and his words fervent with fear.

Thassarian laughed shakily, trying to lighten the mood. 'Koltira, do you honestly think that any member of that rabble you call the Horde could kill me?' The elf opened his eyes, deadly serious, and the laugh died in his throat.

'I could not forget you if you died. I would not be able to keep myself away from you if I knew you were just a country, a continent, a world away, Thassarian-'

A cough from behind Thassarian caused him to whirl around, and Koltira to straighten, hands flying off one another. He knew that both their faces were now a mask.

Tirion Fordring stood by the stables, hands behind his back. His control over his facial expression rivalled the death knights'. It seemed paladins hid their sense of humour too.

'The Trial of the Champion is about to begin, death knights. You would do well to find your seats now.'

'Yes, sir.' They both watched him walk away, a pensive frown on his brow. Thassarian turned to catch Koltira's smirk.

'What?'

'Oh, I don't know.' The elf sauntered towards the stadium doors, Thassarian beside him. 'It's just- when was the last time Fordring got laid? He's even crustier than us on a bad day.'

Thassarian fought down a grin. The draenei they sat next to were visibly impressed, edging a little further away from the seemingly impassive pair. They were right at the front, directly above the pit. If Thassarian leaned forward- which he did, with a perfect air of indifference- he could see the Alliance getting ready, checking the straps on their mounts. The first part of the trial was to be a joust. The horde champions were waiting right opposite them, under the watchful gazes of Thrall and Garrosh, one genuinely interested, the other fuming. Looking above him, he saw King Varian and Jaina deeply entrenched in the Alliance half of the stadium. Thassarian finally noticed the gazes, some curious, others openly hostile, that were being directed towards Koltira. He glared back in disdain, rolling his eyes at Thassarian.

A glimpse of red caught his eye. The woman from earlier swung onto her mount and saluted her king, acknowledging his approval with a grin. She kept masterful control of her horse, coming to stand next to her friend. He rested his sword and shield next to her mace, scooping his long orange ponytail into his helmet.

'I know those two.' Koltira was also watching the two paladins- for they must have been, almost glowing with an internal Light- with interest. 'I saw them in Dragonblight. Good soldiers, good paladins. One of our orcs was sent back to Agmar's Hammer, fully healed by the woman, you know? He fell in a ravine and would've died otherwise.'

Thassarian gave the woman a second look. She laughed with trolls and healed orcs, yet respected her deeply racist king. He saw- maybe only because he was watching her so intently- her gaze flit over to her friend's, how his hand closed quickly over her's. So. Maybe more than friends.

'We need more people like her.'

'Aye.' Koltira sat back as the announcer took centre stage. 'Otherwise the tenuous alliance Tirion has forged will fall apart at the end of this journey.'

Thassarian watched the elf. What would the death of the Lich King do to their bond? He shook all thoughts from his head. Enough of that. Sitting straighter on the benches, he watched the pretty little pageant the Argent Crusade had set up for them.

In the clamour of swords against metal and the roars of the spectators, Koltira gently took his hand in his.

* * *

_They're back!_

_Managed to include my lovely paladin in this chapter: she really is in love with her tank. xD She loved these dailies too. Anyway, I just wanted to show that Thass' and Tira's love isn't just physical: Blizz writes them as having a beautiful comradeship. So yes, sorry if this was a little too tender for some._


	8. Clenched Soul

No one saw us this evening hand in hand  
while the blue night dropped on the world.

Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly  
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

~Pablo Neruda

'Give us a reason, Mograine.' Thassarian was pacing the Shadow Vault: he looked to Koltira for support, but the elf's face was hidden in the shadows.

'Think you that we're the only ones who want to see him dead? The whole of Azeroth is crying out for vengeance, Thassarian. All have suffered at his hands: the final blow must come from the common soldiers, for they have suffered the most.'

Thassarian growled, turning away. His comrades had died by the Lich King's hand: he had been forced to kill his own mother, forsake his people. He wanted to be _there, _wanted it to be _his _sword that spilled Arthas' lifeblood.

'You will be on the Skybreaker, waiting to transport the Alliance heroes to the upper levels. And you, Koltira,' he glanced at the high elf sat in the gloom, one forearm balanced on his thigh. Only his blue eyes burned through the darkness. 'You will be on Ogrim's Hammer with the Horde soldiers, ready to supplement the Alliance forces. If all goes well, you'll both be ready for the Plagueworks within an hour of entering the Citadel. Understood?'

Koltira finally spoke up, his insubordination cutting the frosty air like butter. 'Do you honestly think the Alliance and the Horde can fly past each other and remain unharmed? The Skybreaker and Ogrim's Hammer are both mobile fortresses. They'll blow the other out of the sky in the name of glory.' He stood. 'I want to be stationed somewhere else, Mograine. Anywhere but the zeppelin. Please.'

Darion Mograine merely shook his head, also getting to his feet. 'We won't be there in the throne room, but we still have obligations. I know about… you two, but you'll have to be apart for-'

'This isn't about being on different skyships, Darion! This is about one of us having to watch the other one go up in fucking _flames. _I do _not _want to be responsible for Thassarian's death-'

'Enough!' Darion hissed. Koltira shut up, dropping his hand: he had been yelling, his finger pointing accusingly at Mograine's face. 'Remember your place, death knight.'

Thassarian watched him leave. Koltira stared at Thassarian as if to memorise his face.

'It will be alright. Have faith, my friend.' Thassarian took Koltira's hand, gently pressing the palm to his lips, to cup his cheek.

'Why do I think that something's going to go wrong?'

Thassarian laughed. 'We were baptised in misfortune, love.' He grinned sheepishly when Koltira looked up, shocked, at the endearment. 'Yes, it's true.' He looked into the elf's eyes, trying to sound as sincere as possible. 'You must trust me, Koltira. By the Light, why is this sounding so much like goodbye?'

'Are you going soft on me, Thassarian?'

He grinned roguishly. 'I promise, Koltira, I will only ever go _hard _when I'm on you.'

Koltira's shoulders shook with hysterical laughter. 'You're unbelievable, Thassarian.' They kissed in the half-dark, so different from that hesitant first kiss in Acherus Hold. Thassarian walked away, stopped, looked back.

'Deathweaver. How's about we go for a drink at the Legerdemain after this?'

'As long as you're paying, _sir.' _Koltira smirked. 'I'll meet you at the bar.'

* * *

'Get down!' Thassarian threw himself onto the floor just as the bomb connected with the planking.

Overlord Saurfang was no battle-lusty fool, and neither was Muradin. They knew the stakes of the war against the Scourge; they knew the dangers of getting distracted. After this fight, no one would know who fired the first shot: it wouldn't matter either. What mattered now was which force would make it to upper Icecrown Citadel.

'Mages! Get yer asses up here and freeze their cannons!' The dwarf, middle son of the Bronzebeard clan, almost flung a petrified mage onto the deck.

Ogrim's Hammer was blowing the Skybreaker out of the sky.

Thassarian dragged himself upright: the skyship was listing slightly starboard and the lights on the zeppelin opposite them smudged themselves onto his eyes. The explosions were muted in the back of his brain now: Thassarian was not mortal, but he knew he'd pay for this in the morning.

If he made it.

'Saurfang! Stand down!'

The giant orc, resplendent in his armour, standing defiantly on the deck of Ogrim's Hammer, backlit by lanterns and magefire, roared magnanimously. 'If you cannot defeat one zeppelin's worth of Horde, what chance have you against the Lich King? _You _stand down, dwarf, and let the _real _heroes of Azeroth deal with this!' At this, he pointed at the skyship and another volley of cannonfire thudded against the beleaguered wood.

'Thane Bronzebeard!' Chief Engineer Boltwrench weaved his way towards the dwarf, having to shout over the din. Thassarian merely held on, eyes clenched tightly closed. He hated flying even when no one was shooting holes into them.

'Status report, soldier!'

'My girl can't hold out much longer- the starboard engine's down and it'll take too long for us to switch to the backup.' Wrenching open one eye, Thassarian saw the small gnome wringing his hands. 'Most of our engineers are focused on keeping the bomb below decks away from the fire!'

'By the Light,' Muradin breathed. 'It can't end this way...'

Thassarian leaped forward, intercepting a Horde warrior with a jetpack. Parrying his thrust, he shoved forward with one shoulder, knocking him off the ship.

'Sir,' he yelled, 'We have to abandon ship!' He recognised that look in Muradin's eye: pig-headed defiance. He dragged the dwarf to one of the gyrocopters still capable of flying. 'Sir, we know the Horde can't take down the Citadel on their own. You need to _survive.' _

The dwarf stared at nothing for a long moment, then nodded. 'Aye, Thassarian. I'll kill a couple of those wretches for ye.' Raising his voice, he commanded, 'All right, ye miserable lot! Get on the gyros! The rest of ye, get yerselves a parachute! Yer goin' groundside!'

A flurry of movement bought the Alliance heroes- some lightly injured, others more dangerously so- portside. Thassarian waved them over to the gyros, the marines taking over the defence of the ship, battlemages deflecting the Horde spells.

'That's everyone-'

'Sir! Zetsubou and Caladborg are still below decks- she won't move!'

Thassarian growled in frustration. 'I'll get them.

The dwarf nodded. 'Alright, lads and lassies: evasive manoeuvres!'

Alliance soldiers were passing around parachutes: High Captain Barlett was there, supervising the impromptu evacuation of his ship. He'd been ordered to jump: the Alliance did not have enough talented sky captains for one of them to go down with his ship. He nodded grimly as Thassarian strode past.

A group of soldiers had crowded around the two paladins: the female, Zetsubou, was waving them away.

'Soldier! Your orders were to evacuate!'

Her brown eyes were strained. 'With all due respect, sir, I'm not going anywhere.' She was knelt by Caladborg, his face white with pain. A large splinter of wood was sticking out of his stomach, the wound seeping blood. Thassarian looked up and met her eye. 'He was hit by the shrapnel, sir. I can't move him until he's healed.'

Thassarian nodded. 'That's the tank's life you've got in your hands, lass. I hope you know what you're doing. Make it quick.'

Zetsubou nodded, her right hand glowing white: pressing it hard onto Caladborg's belly, she slowly eased the splinter out, throwing it away. All that was left of the gaping wound was a large pink scar. Caladborg groaned, being supported by Zetsubou on one side and Thassarian on the other as he stood. Strapping him into the gyro, she saluted Thassarian.

'Have a safe trip, sir.'

So. That was all the heroes off the ship. It was their turn now. Accepting a parachute from a soldier, Thassarian readied himself, gulping.

It was a long drop. It was alright to be afraid.

'Thassarian, sir,' Boltwrench quipped, his conversational tone tinged with hysteria. 'You might want to move quickly. They've set fire to the lower decks. I'd just like to remind you that there's a massive bomb down there.' Nodding, the tiny gnome leaped off.

'Lok'tar!' Thassarian turned and saw Saurfang laugh once again. The Horde, thankfully, did not shoot the survivors. They had achieved what they wanted, anyway. A variety of faces leered at the Alliance and their burning glory as they abandoned ship: Ogrim's Hammer had suffered minimal damage.

Thassarian sought a face in the crowd: he found it, pinched and weary.

Koltira Deathweaver gave him a small nod before Thassarian closed his eyes and jumped.

* * *

Northrend's dawn shot the sky through with peach and pink. The larger of the two moons was still visible against the mountains, reluctant to leave.

It seemed like the entirety of Dalaran's population was crowded in the buildings around Krasus' landing or on the platform itself. A city's worth of breath was held, waiting.

Finally, a limping Ogrim's Hammer appeared on the horizon. It was filled with Horde and Alliance forces, all of them present when the Lich King, when Arthas, bless his tortured soul, was finally laid to rest. Next came Tirion Fordring's gryphon: the paladin's brow was creased in confusion and sadness. As the citizens of Dalaran cheered, he and the heroes stood silent, some looking lost, upset, others devastated. They filed away in a ragged line, making way for the rest of the soldiers, the ones tasked with holding the Scourge forces in the courtyard at bay. Darion Mograine stomped away, silent as always: Muradin Bronzebeard walked shoulder-to-knee with Overlord Saurfang, both broken with grief. Both had lost too much, been reminded of too much, to care about much else. The cheering quietened then, the crowd honouring the dwarf who had come back from the dead to kill his friend and the orc who had walked through a portal away from his son and fought many battles, none of which compared to the one against his son.

As the crowd dissipated, a high elf death knight was left standing alone on the platform. He had looked for a face amongst the crowd and did not find it. Sighing, he made his way into the city. Pausing, mid-step, one long eyebrow cocked curiously, he walked past the Sunreaver's Sanctuary, instead stepping into the Legerdemain Lounge, filled with battle-weary soldiers.

Thassarian sat by the bar, sipping from a mug. Looking up at Koltira's entrance, he smiled, pushing a glass of champagne in front of an empty stool.

* * *

_ Sorry for the super-long chapter! I don't know what happened... _

_Also, apologies for tampering with the ICC storyline: it's just that I know Fordring would've found a way for the alli and the hordies to work together, even if they did fall out halfway through the run. I added my paladin and her friend to be the face of the raid. _

_ All in all, it was a lot of action for a love story, don't you think?_


	9. The Unknown Citizen

Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:

Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

~ W.H. Auden

The sun beat down upon them. Thassarian should have been sacking the city, raping, pillaging, knocking down statues. Instead he was here in a pointless duel with an elf convinced of- of _something. _He remembered when his right hand faltered, his runeblades keening for blood and the elf's brother had escaped. Remembered how he ran into an abomination, how its cleaver had swung so hard it lifted him before severing him almost in half, how the elf- seconds before his death- had shouted his brother's name.

'Koltira. Run,' he said softly. The elf's eyes widened, and to Thassarian's perpetual surprise- the moment haunted him years after- his hands opened, relinquishing his blade. They stood, facing each other. Thassarian gripped his runeblades.

'Do you not see?' Koltira smiled hesitantly. 'You are not a mindless servant of the Lich King. Come, human,' he raised a hand in supplication, 'tell me your name-'

Thassarian was stood flush against him, one runeblade pierced right through his chest, below his heart. One long-fingered hand grasped his shoulder for assistance, and Thassarian held the elf's waist as he laid him onto the ground, sliding his blade out. Long eyelashes fluttered on the suddenly ashen face. Thassarian brushed the hair out of the elf's blue eyes as he gasped, trying to something- anything- before he died.

'You were wrong, elf.' He was kneeling protectively over Koltira's body. 'There is no salvation for me.' Half-remembered images of his mother, his sister flickered through his mind. No salvation. He stayed until the elf, his hand loosely wrapped around the human's, bled himself out. Then Thassarian stood, lit a match.

He may have been a death knight, but- but what? Surely he, out of all people, knew why no man or elf should be subjected to his suffering.

_Thassarian. _The voice, snow flowing over bare rock, stung his mind. _Save him._

The human, formerly a proud soldier of the Alliance, struggled to drop the match onto the very dead body. His fingers would not move.

_I want him, death knight. Raise him for me, for the glory of the Scourge. _

He fell to his knees, tears spilling onto the elf's cheeks.

_Raise him as your own._

Thassarian's left hand shook as it buried itself within the elf's chest, lightly grasping his heart. If he waited just a little longer, the soul would definitely have fled the body, and it would be too late.

His mother, her body lying broken and lifeless, clawed into his vision.

_Thassarian, _the Lich King whispered, _do you disobey me? _Pain rushed into his brain, dripped into his body, causing him to scream. _You are my slave. Now, RAISE THIS DEATH KNIGHT!_

The death knight tilted the elf's face upwards. Crying blood- his master's shout having shredded his mind- he pressed his lips against the corpse's, exhaling. The Kiss of Death. The heart thumped within his hold as if frozen: Thassarian knew that tendrils of undeath were forcing the writhing soul back into the body. He forced his breath down the elf's throat until the heart beat strongly and the elf gasped within the kiss. Thassarian slipped out, arm sheathed in blood. He stood.

Koltira's eyes opened. The first thing he saw was Thassarian hastily wiping his face. The human extended an arm towards him: after a moment's thought, Koltira accepted it, hauling himself up. He looked puzzled, turning over his arms as he inspected himself. Thassarian was at a loss: the deed was done. What was there to say? This was no normal induction into an army, no buzzcut, no pride.

'I'm sorry.' Paltry words, but it must have been said.

Koltira shook his head, saying nothing. Thassarian coughed, looking away.

'What is your name, elf?

The elf croaked, stopped- raising a hand to his throat- tried again. 'My name was Koltira Spellweaver.'

'Rise then, elf, as Koltira Deathweaver. Take this sword,' he handed him his mortal blade, 'and wield it well until you can accept a runeblade.' Thassarian met Koltira's gaze, now unnaturally blue. 'The Scourge numbers in the thousands but your runeblade will be your only companion in undeath. Come,' he said, striding out of the courtyard, 'we have work to do.' The Lich King could keep his ceremony.

'Wait!' Koltira made no motion to move. When Thassarian did not turn he grasped his wrist and spun him. 'You have not even told me your name.'

'What does it matter?'

'Is it so wrong to want a friend, to reach out? Your army has killed my entire family and you want me to destroy my own city- '

Koltira collapsed to the floor, clutching his head. Thassarian stood, waiting for the Lich King to finish speaking to the high elf: when he stilled, eyes closed, he knelt just out of the elf's reach.

'He is our king. We do what he says.'

Koltira stood, clutching his sword- Thassarian barely reached out in time to grab it, centimetres from his heart. Eyes crazed, Koltira wrenched out of his grip.

'I did not ask for this!'

Thassarian saw a young elf cheated of his life, his death. He saw the brave warrior determined to understand. In an action defying his master, he emptied his mind, making himself as small as possible in the consciousness of the Lich King.

Something could still be done. His soul could still be saved. This elf was his charge, his responsibility.

He took the blade, dropped it onto the ground.

'What-'

Thassarian raised a hand to his lips. Stepping closer to Koltira, he forced the elf to look into his eyes. They were the same as his now: they were brothers, after all. 'Stick close to me and do as I do. If you do well, he shall never have to speak to you again.' The elf smiled hesitantly and Thassarian's heart was crushed within the roiling depths of his soul. So easily seduced with the illusion of safety, comradeship: the facade would wash away soon enough. The human was suddenly struck with a thought: he was Koltira's superior.

He was never one for leading. Thassarian looked at the elf, pitied him. He met Koltira's gaze, saw one eyebrow cocked in an unvoiced question. Insubordinate. He could grow to like this one.

'My name is Thassarian.'

* * *

_I realised that I'd never written this scene (it feels rather cold, actually. I'm sorry if my attempt at heartlessness ended up looking like literary ineptitude). Thassarian's probably just daydreaming on the boat. What boat, I hear you ask? Thassarian and Koltira are spending Winter's Veil together this year so they're going to have to figure out a way to smuggle someone to a major city... It's either gonna have to be a giant wriggling bag or a dodgy robe and hood._

_P.S. As demonstrated by the Lich King, improper use of capital letters can kill. I wish more players could get that in their brain. ._._


	10. The Owl and the Pussycat

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

They danced by the light of the moon,

The moon,

The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

~Edward Lear

Thassarian shook the water off the razor. He didn't understand why he needed to shave- nor did he want to- but did so anyway, because it was what he'd done ever since he was a boy of sixteen. Old habits die hard.

He was shaving by the light of a candle: the curtains were closed because Koltira was sleeping. He could see his broad, pale back above the duvet, hair scattered on the pillows. He rinsed his face, dropped the note onto the bedside table: he knew Koltira would be angry that he had to leave again, but he _had_ to go. He had explained it several times already but Koltira's eyes had flashed like cut gemstones. There had, he remembered ruefully, been no lovemaking that night. He wanted to flip Koltira over, made him look at his face but the elf's back had been a barrier and even though they had relaxed as the night wore on, he knew that it wouldn't have been appreciated. He had lain awake, cursing himself for being so dumb- like a fool, he did not know what to say.

Thassarian brushed Koltira's cheek gently before leaving.

* * *

That was two weeks ago. He had returned to Dalaran to learn that Koltira had disappeared. The innkeeper did not know where, and the Sunreavers had simply stared past his shoulder, lips thinning cruelly. The only thing he knew was that his letters did indeed make it to the elf.

Thin snow crunched underneath his boots as he wound his way back to the Gilded Rose. The Alliance command was pushing him to retake Andorhal: he wouldn't have minded taking charge there, really, as he knew that it had been a persistent thorn in the Alliance, the Horde _and _the Argent Dawn's sides, not least because of the figure in charge there, Araj the Summoner. Dozens of champions had been thrown at the town and it was finally time to co-ordinate these efforts.

However, there was no way he was going until he figured out where Koltira had gone.

The lights in the windows lit the path, the Winter's Veil celebrations still going strong. He shut the door firmly behind him, brushed past the gigantic fir tree and climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. Allison would've been tired after today, what with all the street parties and all. Fumbling with the key, Thassarian opened the door- and stopped.

The tin bath was sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by oilskin rugs. It was filled with steaming water and the faint smell of apples- the inn's signature fruit, being used in everything from the soaps to the desserts- scented the room. A basket of strawberries sat on the desk and Koltira was sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, chin in hand, an expression of boredom on his face.

'Thassarian,' he drawled, a hint of malice lacing his tone, 'finally. I was afraid that the water would get cold.'

The human edged around the bath- the room was small- careful not to turn his back on Koltira. He was in a dangerous mood. The elf simply smiled, motioning towards the bath.

'You must be tired. Come and relax, Thass.'

'How did you even get in here? How did you heat the bath?'

Koltira shrugged. 'Goblin technology. If you don't want to spend your life in constant fear of a second death, it's better not to ask.'

For the first time, Thassarian felt distinctly uncomfortable as he undressed in front of the elf. Koltira drank him in hungrily, his eyes leaving tiny pinpricks on his skin as they probed his body. Feeling foolish, he turned slightly away from him as he removed his breeches and then his underwear. He did not miss the tiny smirk when he climbed into the tub.

'Koltira, where-'

'Hush, Thassarian. Just lie back and relax. After all, you've been working so hard, haven't you?'

He did not resist when Koltira grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his head forward a little too roughly, scrubbing his back. Koltira's breathing was sharp and shallow but when Thassarian took a hand and yanked him forward, placing the palm directly above his heart, Koltira embraced him, soaking his shirt. His lips danced on his neck and behind his ear, Koltira's teeth closing around one earlobe. Thassarian groaned softly when the elf's hand slid down his torso, stroking him gently. He had learnt to just go with the flow, and right now, Koltira was on a knife's edge, ready to remain angry if Thassarian made the wrong move.

He tugged Koltira's arm and the elf readily came to face him, kneeling beside the tub. Taking his face in both hands, Thassarian kissed him, their lips yielding under the other's, and when Koltira gently sucked the tip of the human's tongue, sighing, he knew that he was forgiven.

'Where have you been, my friend?'

'I'm sorry, Thassarian. I got called to meetings. 'The elf's eyes mocked him lightly. 'I only just managed to escape to Stormwind. Don't worry, love,' he stroked Thassarian's face, 'no one knows I'm here. I am not endangering myself. I simply wanted to see you, to be with you...'

Thassarian said nothing. Koltira had always been better with words and he had always acted upon them, even if doing so was reckless. He smiled instead.

'Join me, Tira.'

'In the bath? Do you think I would fit?'

'If you sit on my lap, maybe,' Thassarian mused. 'After all, you are just a fey little elf, are you not?'

Koltira laughed, shrugging his shirt above his head.

'We're bathing, alright, Thass? Nothing more. Let's not flood the room below us.'

'Of course.' Thassarian's face was as perfect a mask of innocence as a death knight's could be. 'You are my brother in arms, nothing more. I shall be as chaste as a priest's robe.'

* * *

'Stormwind is indeed beautiful.'

Thassarian turned to agree, but Koltira was not facing him. He was looking up at the cathedral, his hood pulled back.

The bath had not gone as planned. There had been barely any water left in the tub by the time they had finished, and neither of them felt particularly cleansed. Koltira had suggested a walk to clear their heads and Thassarian had agreed- as long as the elf was robed and hooded. They were sat in the field opposite the graveyard with the lake shining between and the stars glinting above. A million smaller stars twinkled in the frosty grass and their breaths blossomed out as clouds. Safety was no longer their concern.

'Did you know that I considered joining the Alliance? I thought that I would have been allowed to, since I am a high elf, but the Regent Lord reminded me of my obligations. I think it would have been easier if I had come with you.' He glanced at the human, leaned beside him and crossed his arms.

'I'll be going to Andorhal in a few weeks' time, Tira. The Alliance is planning on finally claiming the town.'

The elf snorted. 'That's funny. The Forsaken are planning the very same thing.'

'Then it would seem that our paths will meet again, death knight.'

'Indeed.'

'Do you think that we would meet on the battlefield?'

'Perhaps. Though, if we are the commanders, we would be expected to stay in the back. Otherwise we might have to put on a show for them, Thass.' The elf grinned. 'You can't just lie down before me like you usually do.'

Thassarian laughed, a short bark in the cold air. 'I feel myself becoming dangerously happy, Tira.'

Koltira stood before him, fingers lacing between his and smiled. The moonlight shone silver upon his hair, his face bathed until it was aglow. Something in Thassarian's chest was aching- something that had been tugging at him for a while now- and he folded the surprised elf in a sudden embrace.

'I love you, Koltira Deathweaver,' he whispered into his tapered ear. 'I am sorry I left you- I promise it won't happen again.'

The elf was laughing, awkwardly patting him on the back. 'It's alright, Thassarian, really-'

'You don't understand, Tira.' He caught the elf in a clumsy kiss, his head light enough to float to the moon. 'I'm sorry that I didn't put you first.' They were still almost kissing, almost breathing into the other's mouth. 'I promise that will never happen again.'

Koltira's smile grew sad, but he ducked his head anyway, kissing him again. 'You're an Alliance soldier. Don't make promises you can't keep, Thass.'

Thassarian was lying on the bed, eyes closed. Koltira was to stay in his room until further notice- that is, until the Forsaken tracked him down- and the fact that Thassarian's distant dream was coming true was making him feel dizzy. The moon, the illicit meeting- it was playing with his heart, making him feel slow and soft and heavy.

A shadow crossed his face and Thassarian opened his eyes. Koltira was sat beside him, twirling a strawberry. It was coated in chocolate, and the bowl was in his lap. He watched as Koltira's face as he fed him, watched his lips part slightly as Thassarian bit into the fruit.

'Happy Winter's Veil, Thass,' he murmured. He dipped a finger into the bowl, coating the tip in chocolate; Thassarian licked it clean, using his teeth to tug Koltira and urge him closer.

The elf, grinning, put the bowl away and grabbed another strawberry, collapsing beside him on the bed.

Staying up late and eating food in bed, lying down? Thassarian imagined that they were still young boys simply playing games and breaking rules. Glancing at the elf beside him, however, he was reminded that this was not a game. They were no longer simply innocent youth and the sight of Koltira, shirtless, hair splayed on the pillow, carefully regarding the soft red fruit finally caused that smouldering flame in the pit of his stomach to spark up.

'That's my strawberry, Tira.' He was above the elf now, thighs tightly grasping Koltira's hips.

'There's loads more in the basket. Use the chocolate while it's still hot.' He motioned towards the table.

Thassarian leaned down. 'You don't understand, Tira. I want _that _one.'

The elf finally caught on. 'Fight me for it then, Thass. Is that not what men do?' He took hold of Thassarian's wrists, suddenly swinging him down so it was _he _who was on top. He was laughing, attempting to get both of the human's wrists in one hand and Thassarian, grunting, was failing in trying to sit up. They wrestled, laughing breathlessly, tight erections rubbing against bellies, thighs hot underneath the cloth. At one point Thassarian had managed to wrest Koltira back onto the duvet and- Koltira's torso glistening with a faint sheen of sweat- slathered chocolate onto him, licking it off his perfectly muscled chest reverently, the salt of his skin mixing with the sweet, intoxicating him. He looked up to see an expression of such vulnerability on Koltira's face that he was struck with the memory of his dream and he kissed him, letting the elf taste the chocolate on his tongue. The elf moaned as he pulled back, fingers stinging his cheek as he forced himself to _look _at Koltira's body. His lean hips, his long legs, his muscled arms- it was all _his _and the sudden urge to kiss, to _touch _it all overwhelmed him but at that same moment Koltira slammed him back down and bit his shoulder hard, making him lie still.

Thassarian cradled the elf's head as he trailed kisses down his chest, broader than Koltira's and more than just dusted with hair. Koltira found the softest part of him and stroked his inner thighs, calloused skin making Thassarian feel like he was experiencing his own body through Koltira's fingers, rediscovering his body through his touch and he finally moaned in agony as the elf ran his teeth down the soft flesh, paler than the rest of him. He ran shaky hands through Koltira's hair as he pinched his thighs, soft lips returning to the same spot, making Thassarian long for release, enjoying the excruciating balance between madness and pleasure, relished Koltira's whispers, asking him what he wanted.

'You know what I want, Tira.' It was barely a gasp.

Koltira yanked his ankles until every part of Thassarian was visible to him but Thassarian did not care enough to embarrassed, even when he tried to pull back as Koltira licked the back of his knees, tasting the sweat there.

Koltira was by no means gentle. He thrust into Thassarian in one go: he threw his head back against the pillow and moaned, no longer caring who would hear. Each thrust made him gasp, his pain making Koltira grin. He whispered the dirtiest things in his ear, his long fingers all over his body, pinching and rewarding. He grasped Koltira's ass in response, squeezing hard. The strawberry, long forgotten on the desk, was picked up and balanced between Koltira's teeth. Thassarian won it, biting and swallowing just before Koltira's tongue plunged into his mouth, the elf tilting Thassarian's head back in a savage kiss.

The creak of the bed increased in haste, Koltira growing feverish and clumsy. Thassarian felt his climax build in his belly, spreading slow and thick. Just before Koltira cried out his name, he slipped a finger into the elf's ass, feeling his body spasm around the finger, Koltira coming and riding off his climax in a frenzy. Thassarian did not last long after, embracing Koltira when he collapsed, laughing. Pure adrenaline still surged in his veins, fighting the exhaustion, but they were both far too weary to stand and fetch a towel. When Koltira stretched, his body illuminated by the moon and speckled with the shadow of snow drifting outside the window, Thassarian felt himself stir once again, but he was content to lie beside the elf. For now.

'Happy Winter's Veil, Thass.' Koltira murmured sleepily. He opened his eyes to find Thassarian watching him, and they shared a kiss, this time slow and languorous.

'Happy Winter's Veil.'

* * *

_Hello again, everyone! I'm sorry that this is horrendously late- this holiday is quickly developing into a nightmare- but I made it long (oh my word it runs on!) to sort of compensate. I hope that everyone is enjoying their Christmas, and that everyone is safe and happy! Allow your livers to recuperate for the new year!_


	11. To Lucasta, Going to the Wars

I could not love thee so much

Lov'd I not honour more.

~Richard Lovelace

'_Masochistic little bastard, aren't you?' Thassarian heard Orbaz chuckle. He slammed the door open, finding the older death knight leaning over Koltira. The elf's face was a mask but Thassarian saw all the tells indicating that Koltira was about to attack._

'_Ah, Thassarian.' Bloodbane stood, ruffled Koltira's hair: slim fingers tightened their grip on wooden armrests. 'Keep a close eye on this one, friend,' he whispered theatrically. 'I think he's even crazier than you.'_

* * *

The first barrels exploded onto the pavement, sizzling onto the cobbles. Scourge and Alliance forces fell to the ground, clutching their faces.

He should have been warned. This should not have been happening.

Thassarian stood in the midst of the chaos, unbelieving. How had he not yet been hit? The vile green liquid licked at his boots but no more. The sounds of his men screaming seemed muted in his ears. The birdsong seemed louder than their pleas.

'Thassarian.' He looked up, dumb, into Koltira's eyes. The sound of his armour clanking had not penetrated his ears, and yet he was here. His eyes, blue and narrowed, held him.

'Koltira... I don't understand...'

To his surprise, the elf laughed, spreading his hands. 'You never could look after your men, could you?' He pulled Byfrost from its sheath and it gleamed dully in his hand. As if on cue, Thassarian dropped to his knees.

'I thought... I thought...'

'You thought what?' A long fingered hand pulled at his hair, forced him to look up. 'You thought we were friends? You thought your letters were for my benefit only, you honestly thought I loved you, you sick, sadistic son of a bitch?' The curl of Koltira's lip was the only thing Thassarian could focus on. His voice was sharp and he spat out his words, glad finally to let them out. 'You killed my family, you _bastard.' _

Koltira wrapped the human's hair around his palm, forcing Thassarian to straighten.

* * *

Thassarian sat up. Alien hands went to grasp his shoulders and he wrenched free, still unable to see through the haze of sleep. One hand stroked his face, his hair, and a stray thought flew into his addled mind: _I still have a head._

'Thass,' that voice, now low and soft, murmured in his ear. Koltira held him, still stroking his cheek. 'It's alright, love, hush,' he said, when Thassarian tried feebly to turn away. He whispered nonsense words until Thassarian could see, until Thassarian could _think. _He stared blankly at the elf's face. Koltira was open and vulnerable, soft and caring. It was a side he was sure no one else had seen.

'I don't know what's with you and this bed, Thass, but maybe you should stop sleeping in it,' Koltira tried, smiling faintly at his friend. When Thassarian did not respond, he nudged the human's face with his own, nuzzling his neck.

'I dreamed that you betrayed me, Tira,' he said simply, squeezing Koltira into a tight hug when he stiffened at the mention of betrayal. Their friendship had been renowned even in the Scourge army, after all. 'You blamed me- rightly- for the death of your family and you disowned me as friend and lover.' When Koltira did not reply, Thassarian hugged him tighter, not wanting to look at his comrade's face. Thassarian did not want him to be angry. After all, Koltira had become the only thing tethering his sanity in those days: his companionship had been shocking but Thassarian had come to need it so badly. He had lain awake for nights on end wracked with self-hate for being secretly _grateful _that he had killed Koltira all those years ago. He had claimed his life and his presence and he could not help but think that had the Scourge not invaded Lordaeron- had Koltira not been such a naive person- Thassarian would have been a lesser man than the one he was today.

Which was why when Koltira pulled away from the embrace, turned to don his clothes, Thassarian's heart plunged all the way to his feet.

'Tira?'

The elf would not look at him. He shrugged his shirt on, back to Thassarian. He stood, turning him, grasping Koltira's face, forced him to look into his eyes. Gone was his soft expression: this was the mask everyone else got to look at every day.

'Tira- listen- it was just a dream. Please, I did not believe it,' his voice rose slightly when Koltira sat, pulling his boots on, 'I'm sorry- I did not believe it.' Koltira cast a face so devoid of expression that Thassarian took a step back, dresser digging into his waist.

'You did not believe it?' Koltira's voice was a whisper but his eyes were ice. 'Do you remember the early days, Thassarian? I don't know if you noticed, but I hated you with every fibre of my being.' Koltira was facing him now, and Thassarian dimly noted how he did not think about raising a hand or lunging for his weapon. This was his friend Koltira, and Koltira did not wish him harm. The elf towered over him, fully utilising his height, holding his face in a vicelike grasp.

'You killed my whole family and you didn't think, _not once, _that it was strange that I became your lover?'

He searched Koltira's eyes, yearning to find a joke or- or something. 'I trust you, Tira.'

Koltira's incredulous grin was what finally broke his heart.

'And you accused me of being the innocent one.' Koltira tore away, threw open the windows: when Thassarian gripped his arm, he bought Byfrost swinging up, nicking the human's jugular. Thassarian stared at Koltira's face, still naked.

He remembered when they stood side by side, resolute. He remembered stolen moments, when lips ghosted over cheekbones, shy hands fumbling. He remembered those hands growing bolder, moulding flesh: he remembered Koltira's sighs of content as he opened himself up to his only friend in the world.

The memory of Koltira's eyes on that night when they assaulted Icecrown Citadel, the fear and love he held betrayed for all to see. Had it all been a lie?

'What is this all of a sudden, Tira- please, just come back-'

'I'm sorry, Thassarian.' The back of Koltira's hand brushed his cheek for what seemed like the last time. 'This was wrong.'

Thassarian's hand slipped from his arm and Koltira disappeared into the dawn, not once looking back.

He fell to his knees.

The winter air rushed in, disturbing the sheets he and Koltira had been lying in just minutes before. What little warmth from their bodies the cloth had trapped was stripped away and carried into the streets of Stormwind as she began to rouse herself.

Thassarian could not look at the bed and instead pressed his fist over his heart, torn and bleeding, wishing for all the world that he could cry.


	12. I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

~Pablo Neruda

Alas, Andorhal.

Koltira stared disdainfully down at the city, hand itching for Bifrost. Just in front of him, Forsaken troops repaired pickets, patrolled borders that overlooked the city square.

Not that it mattered. The blood elf was confident that there would be no attack on the Horde camp: nor would plague barrels rain upon the Alliance.

He made sure of that, at least.

Turning, he just glimpsed that new recruit, Lindsay Ravensun, scurry away to sulk somewhere. The small undead woman was quiet and faintly pathetic. It was almost impossible to think that she was Fane's spy.

Koltira's scowl deepened.

* * *

_ 'More brandy, sir?'_

_Koltira waved a lazy hand in assent. The barmaid looked unimpressed, but poured anyway. He stared into the liquid for some time before throwing it back, burning his throat._

_It had been a week. Thassarian had not sent any letters to the Legerdemain. _

_ He had tried to pretend that he did not care: he was good at that. All death knights were. Nevertheless, Koltira had to acknowledge that waking up day after day alone stung._

_No, it wasn't that. He had woken alone for so many months in Northrend, always in cramped officer's quarters. He had not minded that._

_ It was those Light-damned letters. He had not realised how much he had valued ripping the envelopes open, drinking in his wry humour, even- this he was most ashamed of- holding them near his nose to hungrily inhale the vague smell of the oil Thassarian used on his armor, eyes closed, one hand already fumbling at his breeches. _

_ He stood abruptly, gripping the table to stop the swaying. Thassarian must know how he felt. Perhaps they had been lost._

_Perhaps._

_ The next thing Koltira knew, he was lying on the bed, head buried in the pillows. There was an insistent knocking on the door._

_ 'Thassarian?'_

_The knocking stopped. _

_Koltira, drunkenness forgotten, was at the door in a flash. His mind was already scrambling for a witty comment as the handle turned, his mouth opening as the door opened-_

_ 'Why hello-' _

_ 'Good afternoon, Deathweaver.' Cat-yellow eyes stared back at him, basking in Koltira's sharp surprise._

_ 'Won't you let me in? It's been quite a trek from the Undercity.'_

_Koltira's facade slid into place._

_ 'Of course, Deathstalker Fane. Come in.'_

_Fane slouched onto one of the armchairs, Koltira opposite him. The elf did not bother to offer him a drink. _

_ 'Dalaran is lovely this time of year,' the undead hissed._

_ Koltira's glass slammed onto the table. 'Cut the crap. Why are you here, Fane?'_

_Instantly those yellow eyes turned from faintly mocking to serious. 'How about allegations of treason, Deathweaver? Sexual conduct with another man?' _

_ Koltira burst into laughter, burying his panic deep inside of him. 'In your dreams-'_

_Bony fingers thrust several sheaves of paper onto the table._

_ 'I have a full copy of _every _single letter you have ever sent or received from your 'brother' in arms, Deathweaver. Did you not think we would find them? My kind and understanding nature is the only thing keeping these from the Dark Lady. 'With a dirty grin, the battlemaster shuffled through them nonchalantly, reading the odd sentence here and there out loud. Koltira gritted his teeth. It was all he could do not to kill the man sitting in front of him. Fane, enjoying his obvious discomfort, removed a letter from the pile, slid it towards him._

_It was the missing letter, its small talk hiding a simple code. _

You are much loved.

_Koltira swallowed heavily. He remembered the look on Orbaz's face as he whipped Thassarian's flesh from his bones. He saw, in his mind's eye, Thassarian getting to his feet, face emotionless, standing in between Koltira and punishment, Koltira and danger._

_Never again._

'_What must I do?'_

* * *

_Shift times, transportation lines, troop numbers. Lists and lists of all the little crumbs that made up an army and Koltira shuffled through them all, memorising the numbers, the diagrams, the memos. Any information that would be beneficial to the Forsaken he noted meticulously as he sat, tense as a cat, paying just as much attention to the man snoring lightly behind him._

_The elf had snuck into Stormwind the day before, furious with himself: seeing Thassarian edge around him like a frightened doe only infuriated him more. Then the damned human had used his simple charm and Koltira's anger had shattered. Thassarian had only to touch him, or look with his soul-wrenching eyes into the elf's own and Koltira would break._

_ An image of Thassarian lying naked underneath him, pliant if not soft, head thrown back and chest heaving, forced Koltira to abandon his work. Thassarian slept as the elf sat beside him, his broad chest rising and falling slightly. He could remember the times- surely it had not been so long ago- when, waking up in the dead of the night, Koltira panicked, fought through the gloom to watch that gentle rhythm, suppressing the irrational fear that Thassarian, immortal, fearless Thassarian had somehow died in his sleep._

_ But still he slept on, as he did in those days, on his side, hands curled lightly beside his face. A slumbering lion, his pale flesh an inviting sheath for a dagger._

_An image of Fane smirking and twirling his weapons bubbled through his mind._

_Koltira turned Thassarian onto his back and kissed him roughly: the human woke up halfway through the kiss, sighing into the elf's mouth. Koltira slid a questioning hand onto Thassarian's thigh._

_It was to be a beautiful day._

* * *

'The Alliance are attacking Araj the Summoner! Now is the time to strike!'

'No!' Koltira was surprised at the ferocity of his tone: the Forsaken had barely concealed expressions of disgust on their face. 'Scourge before Alliance, do you understand?' Blue and grey caught his eye: he was in the thick of the fighting as always: the sight of Thassarian in the midst of battle burned Koltira's blood, made it hard to concentrate on his orders.

He should be beside his comrade, knee deep in blood.

'You are not to attack the Alliance. We cannot fight two enemies at once.'

Turning to mount his horse, he caught Ravensun's stare. The afternoon sun- it was a beautiful day- cast her ravaged face into beautiful contrast.

_Where have I seen those cheekbones before?_

'To arms!' Koltira thundered through the mass of skeletons, sweeping them away with Bifrost. Koltira immediately took his place in Thassarian's blind spot, readying his sword.

'You looked like you could use some help.'

Thassarian, easily parrying a skeleton, shifted his stance so he was facing both the Scourge and Koltira: it was then that the elf saw the hardness in his eyes. The human was stood between his troops and the enemy.

With Koltira on the wrong side.

* * *

_Hello, all! I am sorry for my ridiculously long absence. Here, accept this newfound angst as my apology._


	13. Hero and Leander Part I

On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood,

In view and opposite two cities stood.

~Christopher Marlowe

_'Brother. Join me.'_

_Thassarian broke out of his reverie, politely looking just past Koltira's shoulder. The elf was washing blood off his arms, waist deep in water._

_ 'Scared of being seen naked?' The human scowled, stood, took off his gloves. They slapped limply onto the sand. Koltira, smirking, deliberately raked his gaze from Thassarian's feet to his face, goading him with his eyes as they walked past one another, one from the ocean and the other into it. Thassarian swam to some depth, ducking his head to expel the smell of smoke and blood from his hair. Standing, he watched the peach sunset skim the horizon._

_ The serene atmosphere of the beach made him wonder what it was like in Silvermoon, just a few miles north. He knew the army hunted down those who had hidden from the initial breach of the wall. Death knights and geists ripped open basements, scoured sewers to ensure that none escaped. Thassarian, taking one look at his new charge's face, had volunteered them both for patrol duty. They had spent two days patrolling the harbour and the beaches, looking for any signs of a rebuttal or even an attempt to stop Arthas raising Kel'thuzad. He allowed the name to slip out of his mind: Thassarian did not want to draw attention to himself or Koltira now, not when the uncomfortable silence that lay between the two had become a companionable one. His feet sifted through damp sand: Koltira had already slipped on a pair of breeches, languishing on the grass just beyond the beach. His white hair shone in the evening light._

_He collapsed beside the supine elf, covered his eyes with a careless hand. It was so peaceful here…_

_The human suddenly remembered that his swords were lying on the sand. Out of reach. He withdrew his hand slowly._

_Koltira was leaning over him, his hair forming a shroud around their heads. His face was unreadable, a death mask. Long, tapered fingers reached for the human- the temperature dropped as Thassarian drew ice around him, ready to strike- and touched him on the hollow of his neck._

_ Air hissed as ice quickly melted around them._

'_How did you get this scar?' the elf murmured. Despite his discomfort at the intimacy, Thassarian was soothed by the situation. It reminded him of when he was a boy, oh so long ago, swimming in Lordamere Lake with his friends, comparing tiny scars and gigantic fibs._

'_I fell out of a tree. I broke my clavicle too, and my wrist,' he said, flinching slightly when Koltira ran his fingers lightly over the collarbone in question. The air buzzed with the potential of something Thassarian did not understand and he pointed at some parallel marks on Koltira's chest, careful not to touch the skin._

_The elf smiled sheepishly and told him the story of the lynx that gave him the scars. Thassarian closed his eyes, tilted his face towards the dying sun: he could pretend that in a few hours, he would go back to Mama, bemused at his wet hair even as she laid out the table._

* * *

'To arms!' Sunlight flashed into Thassarian's eyes, made him go blind. The voice was as familiar to him as his own and he instinctively turned towards it: Koltira thudded onto the cobbles, taking his natural place by Thassarian's side. Behind the elf, he saw the Forsaken drawing bows, ready to shoot-

'You looked like you could use some help.' The lazy drawl evoked so many memories of camaraderie on past battlefields.

Except, he reminded himself, that it had all been an illusion. He shifted so he could see Koltira, the Forsaken _and _the Scourge, parrying a weak attack from a skeleton as he did so. Only he saw the shock and the hurt quickly veiled in the elf's eyes.

_Good._

'Stay out of our way, elf. I've no qualms about cutting you down too.' He kicked away an opponent, suffusing the rest with disease.

Araj's roar rattled through his throat, causing everyone in the square to whip around. Suddenly, a flood of undead poured into the city square, rising from the corpses littering the floor.

'Deaaath to aaall!'

Hulking abominations blocked all routes of escape. It was the Scourge's final stand and possibly theirs too.

The Ravenian smashed in front of the Alliance troops, slavering. Thassarian immediately lunged for its stomach, rolling underneath its clumsy lunge and into an alley.

'Take care of Araj! I will deal with the brute!'

With cries of 'For the Alliance! For the Light!', his forces charged forward, engaging with the Scourge. One buried an Alliance standard deep into the earth: the sight of the royal blue and the lion finally caused Thassarian's heart to thud in anticipation: no fear. Just the promise of battle.

'Come with me,' he growled, and with a roar, Thassarian sent the Ravenian flying through the air, gripped by unholy hands. The misshapen man tried to run back into the fray, grunting, but Thassarian gripped him in place, icy chains tethering him to the alley.

'Now that I've got your attention…' Thassarian retreated into the alley, away from the bulk of the fighting. The buildings here were mostly intact and the sun barely shone through the tiny gap. The Ravenian was obviously feeling the squeeze, his lumbering run slowing as his shoulders fought for space.

Perfect.

A meaty fist came down on him: Thassarian had to grip his sword with both hands to prevent it from crushing him: the instant his other runeblade clattered to the ground, it was kicked away with a leering grin. Another fist caught him under the jaw: Thassarian staggered, lights blinking in his eyes. He leaped back, feeling the end of the alley behind him, suddenly massively aware of their difference in bulk. His opponent's grin grew wider, sensing an easy victory. He charged.

Thassarian rolled under the Ravenian's legs the instant his hands crushed into brick: he clamped his eyes shut to avoid glimpsing the underside of the Ravenian's soiled breeches. Twisting, he swung his runeblade up, neatly slicing the brute's calf. Aged ligaments snapped and the Ravenian was bought to his knees, howling.

Clutching at the wall, Thassarian edged around the felled monstrosity, scrabbling for his other weapon: movement to his left caused him to turn, but it was too late-

The Ravenian pinned the human to the ground, his head cracking against the pavement: Thassarian yelped as he tried to wrestle out from underneath the giant hand. He slashed at the grip but it wouldn't budge, his blade infecting the meaty fingers with diseases that would act far too late. The Ravenian roared in his face, his spittle and fetid breath causing him to gag. Ice desperately coalesced in the air around them, sheathing Thassarian in freezing armour. His sword was wrenched from his grip and thrown beyond his reach. Thassarian lunged for the Ravenian's face and he laughed, smashing the human onto the ground again.

He heard the crack of ice. Thassarian pounded futilely with his fists: it would not be long until his armour and his torso caved in. Deep, rumbling laughter sounded in his ears, blocking all sounds of the battle beyond as the alley swam in and out view. Fear mixed with the nausea: he had not anticipated dying here, not so suddenly. Who would lead the Alliance in Western Plaguelands?

Blood spattered onto his eyelids: the Ravenian was coughing violently, the tendrils of plague fondling his heart. He would not last much longer than Thassarian.

Good. He had done his duty. The black of the back of his eyes faded into something comforting, familiar…

The Ravenian's laughter turned into a high pitched scream: Thassarian vaguely felt the vice around him loosen. Did he just hear the crunch of steel on flesh?

Thassarian, cracking open an eyelid, witnessed an overwhelming tableau. Geists and ghouls wrestled with Ravenian, tugging at his remaining arm: the human barely noticed that he was spurting blood before he shut his eyes again.

He had not summoned those ghouls, had he? Thassarian tried to think but it was hard to concentrate on anything more than breathing. He heard the Ravenian thrash around in the tiny alley, his screech fading to a gurgle and suddenly the alley was silent but for the slavering of ghouls.

'Yes, yes, you've all done a brilliant job. Get back to the skirmish.' Koltira's voice sounded so far away. The weight of the hand was lifted off him and Thassarian instinctively took a deep breath, momentarily forgetting his broken ribs. They quickly reminded him of their existence and he gingerly brought a hand up to his chest, morbidly fascinated by his- he could guess from the dents and the fact that he kept passing out- near mortal wounds.

'Lie still, Thassarian.' Metal was pried from flesh and cold, clinical hands briefly examined his wounds before the gentle pressure of cloth was applied to his chest. Liquid dripped into his mouth: the healing potion's bitter taste made him cough, but a hand on his chest and forehead kept him on the floor. The familiar, unbearable, itch of wounds within him being sealed up kept him conscious. Thassarian opened his eyes.

Koltira's touch was methodical, professional, deftly wrapping bandages around the human's torso: his shaking fingers, however, revealed that he was more than just worried.

'Why are you doing this?' he croaked. Koltira's eyes quickly flitted to his face.

'You're injured.' Koltira's tone was incredulous.

'I'm Alliance.'

The elf sighed, offering his hand to the human. Thassarian stood up with the aid of the wall, wincing, going straight for his runeblades. Koltira's hand dropped to his side.

Thassarian leaned heavily on the wall, the potion still knitting his wounds, but he could grip his runeblades well enough. Koltira was stood a little away from him, Bifrost in its sheath. He knew how petty he was being: Koltira's change in personality, however, had left him flat footed.

Koltira was the Horde. He had betrayed his trust: again, Thassarian's face burned in shame at the thought of Koltira showing his letters to some orc and stale, months-old anger- at himself, at his stupidity- made him reckless.

'You may leave now.'

'Thassarian.' Koltira's voice was pleading. 'Please let me help you.' His hands made to touch him but the elf quickly checked himself, awkwardly holding Bifrost. Like a guilty child, he quickly looked up to Thassarian's face before sweeping his gaze to the cobbles.

'The Forsaken will want to attack while your forces are recovering,' he blurted out. 'As soon as Araj falls, they will be baying for your blood.'

'Then let them come.' Blood was rushing to his head, making Thassarian feel faint.

'Are you so eager to die? Thass, take this opportunity to-'

Plate armour smashed into the wall. Thassarian's face was an inch from Koltira's: any tenderness had evaporated under the heat of his rage.

'If I die,' he growled, 'it shall be among my men. Pick a side, Koltira, and stick to it. _I _know where I stand,' his voice faltered as he remembered a dimly lit room within Acherus, gently caressing Koltira's face. His heart swelled as he remembered quiet moments and moments that were like bursts of light in his undeath.

Koltira's hands gripped his shoulders, begging him not to say it. A final memory floated into Thassarian's mind.

'Unlike you,' he breathed, 'I'm no traitor.'

Koltira Deathweaver wrenched himself away.

* * *

'Soldier! Status report!'

'Sir!' The Andorhal Force Commander saluted crisply despite the wounds he was sporting. 'The healers are working overtime- who knows how much worse it would have been if the Forsaken hadn't been there to save our asses,' he started, remembering who he was talking to, 'e-excuse my Thalassian, sir.'

'And the Forsaken?'

'We're all licking our wounds, sir, but some of the men are putting up the pickets and a couple of mages are stationed as border patrol. Don't want to be jumped on, sir. We've sent the pigeon to Tirion to tell him of the news.'

Thassarian nodded. 'We're not to engage with the Horde until we're all recovered, yes? Put the medics on double shifts. Hopefully we'll be on our way home before Tirion even decides to come and try to talk sense into us all.'

Saluting, the soldier grinned and strode away, calling out to the stablemaster.

The death knight looked out onto the deserted city. _The calm before the storm. _Turning, he saw medics scurrying between groaning soldiers: blacksmiths were already firing up the forges, broken armour and swords lying in a pile.

_The Forsaken want a fight, do they?_

Thassarian bared his teeth at the garish walls of the Horde encampment.

_So be it._

* * *

_This got a little long, didn't it? Anyway, sorry for butchering the (brilliant) questline here: I had to move the focus from the player and onto the star crossed lovers._


End file.
